


ice, ice baby

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 22:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13867470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sometimes you just have to accidentally magic yourself into a bout of the flu using a too-strong ice spell on some malbadooms.





	ice, ice baby

**Author's Note:**

> written for [hurt-noct-week](http://hurt-noct-week.tumblr.com) day 4: friendly fire
> 
>  
> 
> the fact that i can freeze my own ass off is hilarious to me

For the record, malbadooms fucking  _suck._

They’re big, they’re gross, and there are way too many tentacles coming out of what is basically a giant mouth-topus. Noct didn’t even want to take this hunt, but it’s paying  _a lot_ of gil and they’re really strapped for it, and he hasn’t slept on a real bed in nearly two weeks. 

He’s a weak man. He’ll do anything for a real bed to sleep in. Including, apparently, fighting three malbadooms at the same time while ankle deep in bog water in the Vesperpool. 

How the mighty have fallen. 

The adult malbadooms are lumbering and slow, thank Shiva, so it’s really only a matter of staying out of the offspring’s way when they charge. Noct keeps up a continuous stream of warping back and forth, in for the strike and back out again to avoid getting bitten or—worse—a face-full of poison-breath. Prompto keeps at the edges, getting shots in where he can. Gladio is...Gladio. Meaning he rushes in headfirst with a battle cry as he swings his greatsword around. Ignis is a bit more calculated with his attacks, and there’s no battle cries from him. 

But it’s still three malbadooms at once, plus the little baby ones, and Noct is  _tired,_ he just wants to sleep, and there’s got to be a quicker way to take these guys out—

“Ignis!” he shouts, warping over. Ignis throws a dagger at one of the babies as he turns to Noct. “Do these guys have an elemental weakness?” 

Ignis adjusts his glasses as he looks back at the malbadoom waddle-wading towards them. “Fire seems to do the most damage, but ice is also efficient.” 

As if to prove his point, he throws an ice-bound dagger at the fucker, and it screams in pain. The water around it turns icy briefly before melting away beneath the heat of the malbadoom’s body. 

_Fire, fire—okay._  Noct dodges out of the way of an attacking baby one, He gets behind it, in its blindside, and Ignis summons his lance, joining him in a link-strike to take it out with brute force. 

That one taken care of, Noct searches through the armiger for their stash of crafted spells, looking for a fire one. Ice, ice, thunder, a maxicast with a backfire level of 59 which—no thanks—ice, ice, healcast but it’s ice, too—

“What happened to all our fire spells?” he shouts at none of the guys in particular. “We had like ten of them, where did they go?” 

“Used them against that behemoth, remember?” Prompto shouts back, coming up behind him and shooting the next baby in its ugly face. He grins sheepishly at Noct. “And we drained all the deposits, dude. They haven’t replenished yet. We’re out.” 

“ _Fuck,”_ Noct says, with feeling. Ice it is, then. They have plenty to spare, apparently. 

He grips one of the ice-filled magic flasks tight in his fist, drawing it out of the armiger. The crackle of magic flows through his limbs, filling his chest and seeping into his veins. The flask glows faintly, and he readies it. And  _fuck,_ they haven’t had any sort of nullifying meal recently, so this is going to hurt like a  _bitch._

“Heads up!” he calls, and lobs the flask at the nearest malbadoom. The flask cracks and splinters as the magic is released, and a shower of crystalizing ice rains down over the malbadoom and everything in a hundred-foot radius. Including all four of them. 

It was a strong spell. 

The air fogs and freezes, the water turns to ice, and Noct shivers violently. Crystals have formed on his arms, and the tips of his hair are completely frosted. He can’t feel his fingers. Are they turning blue? He brings them up to his mouth and puffs warm breath against them. 

It’s a bone-deep kind of cold, the kind of cold that never reaches Lucis, let alone ever reached Insomnia. His teeth chatter as he hobbles away from the dying babies, the other malbadooms retreating as they shrivel and die with agonizing screeches. He catches Prompto huddled into Gladio, pulling him out of danger with a potion, and Noct grimaces. Whoops. Ignis is coming to his side, glasses fogged and frosted around the rims. He shivers, patting ice crystals from his sleeves. 

“G-good job, Noct,” he says, and Noct pulls his frozen lips into an approximation of a smile at his chattering teeth. “Th-that seems t-to ha-have done the t-trick.” 

“Th-thanks,” he gets out, then sneezes. It hurts, throbbing in his chest, and his head feels stuffy. He sniffs, nose running. And he  _aches._ “Ugh, I-I think it w-was a little t-too strong.” He sneezes again, and Ignis frowns. 

“Magicked yourself into a cold, did you?” he tuts, and Noct pouts at him as he pulls a glove off to hold it against Noct’s forehead. He tuts again. “Congratulations, you’ve given yourself a bout of the flu, no doubt. You’ve the beginnings of a fever.” 

Noct sneezes again, and this time he feels like he’s going to throw up, the wave of nausea nearly doubling him over. “I hate everything,” he moans, eyes watering, panting, and just generally feeling like shit. “We’re gonna have enough to crash at the Leville for the next few days, right? Because I can’t do the camping thing again.” 

“Should, after a fortnight of hunts,” Ignis says, hands helping to steady Noct as they all head for the Regalia. “Which was idiotic in and of itself and probably did us no favors.” 

“Not our fault we had to wait for the fucking rain.” Fucking gigantoads. 

As soon as he’s back in the car, Noct slumps against the door, holding back another urge to throw up breakfast. Gladio scoots as far into his door as he can, sniffling but not as severely as Noct, and definitely not sickly pale and sweating bullets. Prompto gives him a sympathetic look from the front seat and mercifully decides to keep quiet. Noct thanks him with a quiet groan; his pounding migraine probably wouldn’t have appreciated his usual decibels. 

By the time they make it back to Lestallum, Noct is practically a limp noodle and Ignis is literally carrying him to the Leville. His fever spiked passing through Meldacio, and the nausea went from waves that came and went to a perpetual state of being. He’s so  _hot_ but he’s shivering, and the heat of Lestallum isn’t helping anything. 

Prompto and Gladio are sent off to collect their earnings, and Ignis manages to get him up into a room. They’re lucky the guy at the front desk knows them so well, not even asking for payment up front when he sees the state Noct is in. 

Throwing up in the foyer probably didn’t hurt anything, either. Except his pride, but Noct doesn’t have the brainpower to give a shit about that right now. 

Once they’re in the room, Ignis tosses him into the bathroom unceremoniously, helping him out of his clothes and into the shower. He stands on weak, shaky legs as hot water beats over his head and back, and he doesn’t have the energy to gripe when Ignis grabs a washcloth and begins scrubbing him down firmly but carefully. 

He coughs, closing his eyes and praying to whichever of the Six will listen and take pity on him that he does  _not_ throw up all over Ignis. “This sucks,” he sighs. He’s too weak and tired to manage the proper level of disgruntled he feels deep down. 

“I’ll bring you some soup later,” Ignis says, squirting shampoo into his hand. He lathers it up and begins massaging it into Noct’s hair. “I want you to get some juice down for now, and then you can sleep as long as you please.” 

Food sounds highly unappetizing but sleep sounds fantastic. He sighs as Ignis rinses him off, shivering and sneezing again. “Sure thing, Specs.” 

He’s dried off and dressed in a clean set of clothes before being tucked into bed. He does manage to drink an entire glass of juice, brought courtesy of Prompto and Gladio from the market, and he listens to Prompto play on his phone beside him as he dozes off. 

It’s a night of fitful sleep and wakefulness to throw up what little he’s able to keep down. His fever breaks near dawn, thankfully, and by evening the next day he’s feeling a whole hell of a lot better. Ignis looks a little worse for wear despite having a real bed to sleep in, and Noct feels like shit for keeping him from getting the rest he deserved just to look after him, so they stay an extra couple nights—they have the gil for it, at any rate. 

When he’s finally well enough for them to travel again, and none of them look like they’ve been camping for two weeks straight, they clear out of the room and climb back into the Regalia. 

“A few new hunts cropped up while you were recovering,” Ignis says as he slides into the driver’s seat. He hands Noct the posters for them. “Any of those strike your fancy?” 

Noct doesn’t even look at them before handing them back. “Whatever pays well that’s  _not_ a malbadoom or weak to ice,” he says, and Gladio snorts. Prompto giggles but presses his lips together to keep from saying anything. 

Ignis adjusts his glasses with a smug air about him. Noct leans back in his seat as Ignis starts the car and throws it in reverse. 

“As you wish.” 

**Author's Note:**

> poor noct magicked himself right into the flu bc hes an Idiot
> 
>  
> 
> come yell abt these dumbs with me on [tumblr!](http://duscaenorange.tumblr.com)


End file.
